In The Late Hours
by Italian Skunk
Summary: Sleep was hard to come by, but it was in the late hours of the night that Spain took Romano in dance.


If he stood on a sandy beach, then sleep was at the horizon. Unreachable, he could feel it running through his fingertips.

Green eyes flickered open into slits, and squeezed shut again.

Romano, in a half-awake-half-asleep daze, nudged his face into Spain's chest. It didn't matter, he was awake. He was aware of the snow falling outside, and the strip of silver moonlight stretching across the bedroom. His body ached, he sat up.

Spain remained still, silent, _asleep_.

His stomach rolled in an uncomfortable way, the cold air biting through his socks to his feet and up his legs. The bedroom door creaked, a spare blanket fit snugly around his shoulders. His shadow quietly, slowly, melted down the steps.

The living room, tucked safely away in Spain's large house, was cascading in shades of gray and blue and purple. Outside, beyond the locked French doors, the snow was rushing to the ground.

In his trained yet tired gaze, the flakes fluttered with the whistling wind, slinking and stumbling. Romano burned the image into his memory, it was beautiful and his fingers itched to drag out the scene in charcoal on rough paper. The lock jingled and cackled as he slid the bolt free and opened the doors. His toes chilled, his ankle socks growing damp, his ears red and eyes stinging. The soft smell that could only describe winter burned in his lungs, left a feeling in his mouth as if he were chewing mint gum when out of breath - that sharp, cleanliness that made him feel alive.

But a moment later, he no longer felt alive at his knees locking and dullness in his chest. Why should he? His country - though split with his brother - was just across the sea and in chaos. Something pricked his eyes, and it wasn't Winter that suddenly went merciless on him.

"You should close the doors,"

Romano tilted his head around, a glance over his shoulder showing Spain. The Nation yawned, beckoning to Romano again to get inside, get warm, and _let the freezing-ass air stay outside diOS MÍO, LOVINO POR FAVOR._

Another round of clicking and clacking, and the doors were shut and locked.

"There," Romano huffed with a bitter glare. "stupid 'Tonio."

"Well, I care about you. You're already in terrible condition... I don't want it to become worse, Lovi." Spain answered,

Romano sputtered with a rusty laugh, very well aware of the flecks of blood on his lips. A dangerous glint flashed in his green eyes. "_Worse_? Winter is - pfft, winter is _nothing _against Pompeii, and guess who got through _that_, pretty boy?" He dabbed the corner of the blanket against his lips - it was his, after all, but when the hell did it get to Spain's place? - and sighed.

"We both know you aren't asking for a fight... You're too tired, but you can't sleep."

Spain was holding him now from where they stood in the middle of the living room. His hands rubbed up and down Lovino's arms to warm him up too. His green eyes were caring, and in the light they became Coke bottle green. He tugged gently on Romano's wrists, nudging him forward.

"W-what are you doing, stupid bastard?"

Spain smiled brightly, comfortingly. It was soft and Romano suddenly saw the night sky twinkling in his green eyes. "_Voy a bailar contigo_," he murmured.

"No,"

"No?"

"I... I'm sick, a-and dancing with your dumbass ways will end up in kissing... a-and then..." Romano's gaze flickered back and forth. He fumbled over his words. "You'll... g-get sick,"

"No I won't, Lovi. And you're not sick... just battle worn. Come on, put your feet on mine. I'll hold on to you until you're basically asleep..." Spain pressed gently. He smiled when Romano hesitantly placed one foot on his, and then the other. "... Your feet are small. And those dark gray ankle socks seem to stress the point,"

"Wow-" a cough. "Thanks."

Spain held him close, his hand enveloping Romano's. Romano's cold fingertips brushed his shoulder, and Spain settled his free hand on Romano's waist. They set off into slow movements, the wintery moonlight capturing them in the darkness of the living room. The blanket fluttered around them.

Romano's arms eventually slung around his neck, and Spain wrapped his around his waist completely.

"_Te amo_," he murmured.

Romano didn't answer, or rather, he couldn't. With a smile against Spain's neck, he peacefully drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**A/N - Just a little something, haha. Enjoy and review!**

**"... _diOS MÍO LOVINO POR FAVOR."_ \- "...oh mY GOD LOVINO PLEASE."**

**_"Voy a bailar contigo." _\- "I'm going to dance with you."**

**"_Te amo_," - "I love you,"**


End file.
